


Training Wheels

by sawbones



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reference to Past Assault/Violence, Setting: Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: Remy realises he doesn't have to walk the long road to recovery alone.





	Training Wheels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lithophene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithophene/gifts).



> An original fic commission for [lithophene](http://lithophene.tumblr.com/), who was an absolute pleasure to work with. Remy & Mason belong to them.
> 
> A continuation of [this work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8190364/chapters/18765913)

It was still early enough that the light outside was thin and grey, but Mason was already awake. He stroked Remy’s hair gently - so gently, as to not wake him - the way he liked to when he was thinking; Remy didn’t say anything, didn’t let him know he was awake too. He just wanted to lie there for a little while longer and listen to the steady, strong heartbeat under his cheek, but it couldn’t last forever. He waited for as long as he could before he had to get up and go to the bathroom. Mason didn’t try and hold on to him, but he did let his hand slip down his back as he sat up, a gesture that might have been comforting on possessive, depending how someone looked at it. Maybe both. Remy didn’t mind.

By the time he came back, Mason was already up and half dressed, his jeans low on his hips and his shirt in his hands. Remy crawled back into bed again, and already it felt too big, too empty. He’d been hoping for a little more time before duty came calling but he supposed at least he got to watch him get dressed, drinking in the long, lean lines of his body. Remy couldn’t get enough of him; he loved his broad shoulders and his narrow hips, loved his beard and the rug of hair on his chest, loved his well-turned arms that spoke of a real working man. 

Mason noticed him staring and smiled almost bashfully, like he still wasn’t used to Remy looking at him the way a hungry dog looked at a t-bone. Remy gestured for him to come over with slight lift of his chin, and he did. He sat on the edge of the bed and let himself be kissed and petted and fussed over for just a minute.

Remy kind of wanted to fuck him again, and tried to tell him that without saying a word.

“I have some things I need to do today,” Mason said, half-apologetic. 

Remy nodded, though part of him still wanted to stick his hand down the front of his jeans. He got it, though. Free time was a luxury they rarely had, “In or out?”

“In,” Mason said.  _ Well, thank fuck for small mercies at least.  _ He put his hand on Remy’s arm, “Do you need me to get you anything before I go?”

“I’m not a fucking invalid, Mason, c’mon,” Remy said, trying to laugh, but it still came out a little sharper than he meant it to. The look on Mason’s face made him feel like an asshole so he softened his tone and tried again, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Mason’s answering smile was tight and sympathetic, “Try and get some rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

\--

 

That first night, Remy had never been so glad to see the shitty mattress he shared with Mason, with it’s ancient creaky springs and thin, scratchy blankets. A week’s worth of enforced bed rest later, and he was starting to change his tune. After the first couple days, the doc had taken off the bandages and told him to lie on his sore side to make breathing easier, so he did; it was how he spent most of his day when Mason wasn’t there to keep him occupied, bedsheets tangled round his knees, arm tucked under his head in lieu of a pillow. 

He could see out the window above their bed from that position. He spent hours just watching wisps of white cloud pushed across a cool blue sky like smoke in the wind. It should have been relaxing, a time for some much needed rest - hell, there were people out there in the struggle that would have given a finger for the chance to lie in a safe, warm bed for a while and just watch the clouds. 

_ I know the exact trajectory a molotov cocktail would have to take to land on the bed beneath the window. _

This bed. This window.

It was hell.

Remy hated every goddamn second of it. He didn’t want to relax, he didn’t want some time for contemplation; he wanted to be out of that bed and out of his head. When he was alone and things got quiet, it felt like a constant struggle to stop himself dropping right back into that warehouse, like pushing against walls that wanted to close in on him.

The only time he was glad to be there was when he could share it with Mason, but he couldn’t blame the man for having to leave sometimes; there was work to be done. Always something else that took priority. Supplies to be found, repairs to be made. A handyman was in high demand around Haven, and they didn’t come much handier than him. Besides, he always came right back. Remy hoped he always would. 

They hadn’t spoken about what had happened much. He didn’t want to and Mason didn’t know how, but he had told him it wasn’t his fault ten different ways, not all of them with words. Remy knew that, told himself the same thing, but then he’d catch the tail of one thought and pull on it, unwinding it all the way back to the beginning like a ball of yarn. _ I should have held my tongue. I should have fought back harder. I should have seen the trap. I should have known the city was too quiet. _

It was bullshit, but it went on and on until he found himself wondering if he even should have fought back against those assholes in the asylum in the first place, and that’s when Remy knew he had to go. He wanted to heal up, he  _ tried _ to be good and responsible for a change, but it wasn’t fair on him or the others who had to pick up his slack. 

The doc had said even with medical equipment, cracked ribs could take months to heal properly, and if Remy was lucky they were just bruised and he’d be fine in a few weeks. Either way, he strongly recommended another couple of days resting up. Aside from his chest, the rest of him was healing just fine; his bruises were fading out to ugly yellow storm-clouds, his split lip was tender but didn’t bleed any more when he smiled too wide, he could walk and sit without that needling grimace of pain reminding him constantly of what had happened.

Remy figured he’d be alright if he just kept his head down and avoided doing anything stupid. He tried to ignore the sharp ache in his side when he bent down too fast to pick his shirt up off the floor that warned him otherwise. He just wanted to check up on his bike, since he guessed it wasn’t recovering as well as he was without someone there to fix it up. An hour or two tops, then he’d be right back.

 

\--

 

Remy ducked between the cabins rather than taking the main walkways, hoping he could avoid meeting any of the other residents on the way to the garage where Mason said they’d stowed his bike. He’d honestly been a little surprised anyone’d risked going out to collect it, especially since there was no guaranteed it was even repairable. Remy thinned his lips in a frown; at least it would be a little safer with a few less raiders out there.

Even with his indirect path, Haven wasn’t big enough that he could go entirely unnoticed. He passed by two women - one leaning against what was left of a fence, the other squatting beside her, rifling through a canvas sack. Rations, maybe. Loot. He didn’t look too closely. He knew them about as much as he knew anyone in the compound - a vague recognition and not much more - but they still turned their heads to watch him walk by. Their eyes felt heavy on his back. Curiosity, suspicion, or worse: sympathy? 

He didn’t know how much people had heard about what happened, about what had been done to him and what he’d done to escape. Didn’t want to know. He turned down the next side alley before they could say anything, if they were going to be that bold. It took him more or less to the garage he was looking for anyway; the shutters were mostly pulled down but he could see a sliver of two wheels inside, well worn but unbroken. Even just the sight of it was enough to lift Remy’s spirits. 

As he got closer, Remy realised he could hear a man’s voice coming from inside - low, urgent curses hiss through clenched teeth. He frowned: he  _ recognised _ that voice. Not bothering to be stealthy about it, Remy hooked his hands under the shutter’s dirty edge and threw it up with a clatter and a throb of pain in his side. He came damn near face to face with Mason, wide-eyed with a grease-stained thumb jammed in his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Mason slowly pulled the thumb out but kept it cradled in his other hand.

“Nicked it trying to get the chain back on,” he said, a touch sheepish, “What are  _ you  _ doing? I mean, not that I ain’t happy to see you, but you ought to be in bed, doc said--”

“What the doc doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Remy said. He could hardly keep his eyes off his bike. There was still some signs of damage but it was pretty clear Mason had been busting his ass trying to get it back together again. The frame had been repaired, new headlamp, new muffler - hell, even a dent in the rear fender he’d had since before the crash had been carefully hammered out. It had been washed, waxed and polished within an inch of its life. Remy took a half-step forward, ran his fingers over the cracked leather of the seat, “You did all this for me?”

Mason nodded, “Had the fellas keep an eye out for any parts they could find out there this week. I was hoping I could have it ready for you when you got the all clear, but I guess I might have over-estimated my abilities a little.”

Remy came around the other side of the bike so he was beside Mason. He took his hand, the one he’d hurt, and uncurled it to look at the damage. A little cut on the pad, nothing more - it had even stopped bleeding already. He squeezed his hand, twined their fingers together; Mason squeezed back. Remy’s chest felt tight, his face hot. His tongue was so tied in knots he couldn’t have say thank you. 

“You didn’t have to,” he managed to say after a moment’s silence.

“But I wanted to,” Mason said, “You’ve been through the shit lately. I wanted to give you something to look forward to when you were back on your feet. I know how much this old thing means to you.”

“This is--” Remy began, then frowned, “This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, you know that?”

Mason smiled, a subtle thing that twitched beneath his beard. He touched Remy’s cheek with his free hand, just the lightest brush of his thumb, “You’re worth it.”

Remy blinked up at Mason, his lips parted like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. He swallowed around the lump in his throat instead. Mason had been so good to him - too good, sometimes; more than he deserved. Remy was starting to realise that he’d been taking Mason’s feelings for granted. Part of him had always just assumed they were together because of the circumstances, that when the world had ended you just hung on to whatever sweetness you could find, even if it wasn’t what you really wanted. 

But this  _ was _ what Mason wanted. Remy could see that now, could feel it in the way he held him, the way he kissed him. The bike was just the cherry on top. He had to stop thinking like they were temporary, or a sham, or any less real because of who they might have been before. It was unfair on both of them.

“Shit,” Remy said. Mason’s brows lifted, “ _ Shit. _ ”

He let his head fall forward against Mason’s chest and screwed his eyes shut; he just put an arm around him and let him ride out his cresting wave of-- fuck, whatever it was he was feeling. 

“This is it. This is the real deal, isn’t it?” Remy asked, looking up again. He knew what the answer would be but he still needed to hear it.

“Before all this started, I never thought I’d see myself with someone like you - another man, I mean. But I guess I never thought the world would end neither. Things change. People change. Can’t say I regret it one bit; in fact, I’m glad for it,” Mason said. He gave a huff of laughter and rubbed the back of his neck, “Meeting you, I mean. Not the world ending. That’s what the bike is about.”

“Mason--” Remy began, but Mason stopped him.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’ve been meaning to tell you how I felt for a long time coming now, what with everything that’s happened, and--” he paused, looked away for a second and nodded, “Yeah, Remy. It’s the real deal.”

Remy let go of Mason’s hand but only so he could could loop his arms around his neck and pull him down into a deep, borderline desperate kiss. His lips parted easily, his legs too when Remy walked him backwards into the workbench and slotted himself between them. Mason smelled like motor oil and chain-grease, something almost comforting, and Remy couldn’t give less of a shit if he was getting it all over himself too. Fingers carded through his hair, making him shiver; Remy ground his hips forward in response.

“Hey now,” Mason warned gently, breaking the kissing but staying close enough that their lips still brushed when he spoke, “Don’t be giving me ideas.”

“I’ve got an idea for you,” Remy said, skirting his fingers under the hem of Mason’s grubby shirt, “Since you seemed so concerned, how about you escort me back to bed yourself? For the good of my health, of course.”

Mason inclined his head with a slow curling grin, “Well, when you put it like that, I could hardly say no now, could I?”

The way his voice dropped into his slow easy drawl went straight to Remy’s cock, and he knew it did. It was time to go.

They didn’t bother to pull the shutters down on the garage when they left; there was no point now Mason’s ‘secret’ was out, and it wasn’t like anyone in Haven would dare interfere with the bike either. The walk back to the cabin felt twice as long as the trip to the garage, though Remy figured walking with half a hard-on didn’t help. They didn’t hold hands on the way there, mostly out of habit, but Remy had no qualms dragging Mason over the threshold by the front of his shirt.

They went through the awkward dance of trying to undress each other without wanting to break contact, joined at the lips, hands pushing and pulling and squeezing as they roamed over each other’s bodies. 

“I want to do something for you,” Remy said as Mason pushed his face into the crook of his neck, teeth grazing skin, the scratch of his beard bringing him out in goosebumps, “Something special.”

Mason gave a hum of agreement like he was only half listening, far more focused on cupping Remy’s ass as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Remy grinned and pushed at his shoulder to get his attention.

“C’mon, get on the bed for me,” he said, “Hands and knees.”

That seemed to get through to him. He pulled back but kept his hands on Remy, “What’s the plan?”

“Nothing you won’t like. Trust me on this,” Remy said. He knew if he spelled it out, Mason would probably bolt; there was already a beautiful blush rising behind his beard at the simple request of getting on his hands and knees. However, Remy also knew he was going to fucking love it. 

They hadn’t switched back to their ‘normal’ positions since that first night Mason had surprised him, not while Remy was still healing, but Mason certainly didn’t seem to mind. He’d been more receptive, more sensitive than Remy could ever have imagined. It had only been a little more than a week but Mason’s confidence - and enjoyment - seemed to grow with each good hard fuck.

Mason hesitated for a second before he did as he was told and crawled onto the bed. He still had his underwear on, socks too, but it was still a sight to behold. Remy was half-tempted to ditch his plan, finger him open, and fuck him just like that, with his dark head buried in the pillows and his heavy cock hanging between his legs. 

He squeezed his own cock to try and refocus himself as he knelt on the bed behind him. He ran his hands down the toned sweep of Mason’s back before he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and pulled it down around his thighs. Mason took a short breath at the sudden exposure, and Remy took his time to admire him. He didn’t often get to see Mason in a position like that, back arched, practically  _ presenting _ himself. Of course he loved being on his back for him whether Mason was riding him or not, but it was always nice to change things up. Remy cupped his cheeks, squeezed hard, savouring the way the muscle tensed and shifted beneath his palms; he wanted to remember that sight for a long time coming.

“Uh, need the slick?” Mason asked, probably wondering what the hell Remy was doing back there. It was buried under the pillows somewhere, abandoned after the last time they used it.

“No,” Remy said as he ghosted his thumb across Mason’s hole. He paused, smiled, “Not yet.”

There was always later, he thought as he leaned down and retraced his thumb’s path with a broad swipe of his tongue. Mason’s hips jerked forward at the surprise sensation but Remy held him in place and did it again, drawing an embarrassing noise from the poor man. He kept it simple, a slow rolling back-and-forth just to let him get used to it. Remy considered the fact he hadn’t jumped right out of bed and left already was a sign to keep going.

He could feel Mason beginning to relax as he stroked his thighs and squeezed his ass, and it was tempting just to go to town on him, to hold him open and fuck him with his tongue until he was a moaning mess. Remy ghost his fingers along his aching cock, and Mason’s hips twitched like he couldn’t decide between pushing back against his mouth or rocking into his tormentingly loose grip. 

“You okay?” Remy asked, pausing for a second to catch his breath. He kept his hand working in long, firm pulls, and playfully pressed his teeth against the meat of Mason’s ass.

“Don’t-- don’t stop,” Mason said, his voice a little shaky, “Please.”

Remy groaned under his breath; Jesus Christ, how could a man keep a cool head with a plea like that? Despite his weak protests, he sat up and let go of his cock to slide his hands up his cheeks to rest on his hips. He tightened his grip hard enough to leave faint imprints; he wanted Mason to imagine being taken like that. Wanted Mason to think about the way his fingers felt digging into him, like a promise or a threat. He could lean over him, whisper filth in his ear while he pounded into him, maybe get a good handful of his hair...

It took a genuine effort from Remy to let go, to refocus himself on the task at hand. As quickly as he had sat up, he knelt down again and surged forward, redoubling his efforts, not holding back so much now he knew Mason was really getting into it. He pushed his tongue into him, further, deeper, and held onto his hip with one hand to keep him in place, stroking his cock with his other hand. His fingers were slick and so were his chin and cheeks, a perfect mess. Remy tried to work up a rhythm like that, pushing in on the downward stroke with a twist of his wrist until Mason said his name, a warning and a plea. Remy answered with an encouraging hum, and Mason spilled over his fingers like he’d been waiting for permission.

Remy wiped his face on his hand and his hand on the bedsheet, and kissed the nearly-faded bite-mark he’d left earlier; he let Mason shiver through the worst of the aftershocks and resisted the urge to tease him beyond overstimulation. He sat up and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor beside the bed and took a quick swig - it was good manners, if nothing else. 

By the time he rolled back to Mason, he seemed to have mostly recovered. He was lying on his back watching Remy with hooded eyes, the faintest smile on his lips. His face was still flushed.

“You good?” Remy asked, and Mason nodded, his smile growing a little.

“That was-- dirty,” he said, and not disapprovingly. Remy was willing to bet it was the wildest thing he’d done in the bedroom yet - figured there was time to change that, but he was fine to start with babysteps. Mason glanced down, “Did you…?”

“Not yet,” Remy said, and the subtle way he stressed  _ yet _ made Mason squirm. He leaned in to kiss him, hands braced on either side of his head; Mason arched off the bed to meet him, a crush of noses and lips and grins. 

“Since this is a day of firsts, there’s something I wanna try too,” Mason said when they broke apart, his hands on Remy’s chest. He bit his bottom lip as he rolled his thumbs over the peaks of Remy’s nipples, clearly enjoying the shudder it produced. He was sensitive there and Mason knew it, liked to take advantage of it whenever he could. 

“Name it,” Remy said, not ashamed of how his voice caught in the back of his throat when the touch turned into a pinch. The list of things he wouldn’t do for or to Mason was pretty short.

“I wanna suck you off,” Mason said, plain as that. For some reason, it still managed to catch Remy off guard. He gaped for a moment.

“You don’t have to,” he said, but Mason shook his head.

“I  _ want  _ to,” he insisted quietly, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Remy’s eye. He let his fingers trail from Remy’s chest to his stomach, down under they were resting just above his cock, “Been thinking about it for a little while now too. I want to give as good as I get. That’s what partners do, right?”

“Partners?” Remy blurted before he could stop himself. Shit, the idea that Mason had been thinking about his cock in his mouth had him harder faster than he’d been since he was a goddamn teenager, “I-- shit, yeah. Alright, cowboy. How do you want me?”

He rolled off of Mason and onto his back, loving the way the other man’s eyes followed him, fixed on his dick the whole way. He reclined on the pillows, trying to look more casual than he felt as Mason edged down the bed to settle between his legs. He grasped Remy’s cock by the base to hold it steady and looked up at him, almost as though waiting for instruction; Remy nodded once, and Mason closed his eyes and drew him into his mouth.

Remy’s lips parted in silent surprise as he was slowly engulfed by the soft wet warmth. There was a crease of concentration between Mason’s brows, and it was obvious he was working through a mental checklist - watch the teeth, roll the tongue, work the shaft. It was a little awkward but he couldn’t care less; it was Mason, and it was perfect. He pulled back far enough to tease the tip with his tongue, and Remy had the dawning realisation that he was trying to replicate what Remy had done to  _ him _ before.

Remy fought the urge to buck his hips, to thrust up into the perfect fucking mouth. Instead, he took a breath and settled his hand on Mason’s head - not pushing or pulling, just a sort of reassurance. 

“You’re a natural,” Remy said, his voice a little tight around the edges as Mason tested the limits of how far he could swallow him down - not that far, it turned out, but far enough. The scratch of his beard against the soft skin of Remy’s thighs was just about the hottest thing he could imagine. His fingers tightened in his hair minutely, making Mason’s lashes flutter with a short moan.

In an effort to stop himself from pulling to hard on his hair, Remy put a hand behind his head. His knuckles brushed something hard beneath the pillows, and he pulled out the small bottle of lube they’d forgotten there. He half-laughed - well, if that wasn’t a sign.

“Mason,” he said, and the other man blinked up at him. He pulled off Remy’s cock with a ragged breath and took the lube from him, knowing exactly what he wanted. He poured out a little over his fingers and nudged Remy’s legs further apart; Remy swore under his breath as Mason timed it so he swallowed him down again at the same time he pushed one calloused finger inside of him. He was a fast goddamn learner.

If he was close before, he was even closer then. Eating out Mason first had gotten him pretty worked up, and the confession about wanting to go down on him really hadn’t helped. Mason pushed a second finger into him already, crooking them in just the right way to make Remy’s toes curl. Mason moaned when he moaned, like he was really getting off on it too. Remy’s face felt hot, his cheeks were a beaming red, and he had to grab at Mason’s shoulder to get him to stop. He didn’t want to come like that, not so soon.

“Get up here,” he said breathlessly, “I want you to fuck me. I want you to screw me through the mattress.”

Mason nearly choked, but he crawled back up Remy’s body quick enough, stopping to lay kisses over his chest - careful to miss his bruised side, of course, “Are you...sure you want it like this so soon?”

Remy nodded. Mason’s stilted concern make his throat feel tight; he took his face his both hands and kissed him hard, “I’ve missed you.”

It was all he needed to say. Mason sat back on his heels and dug the lube out from the bedsheets; he poured some over his cock, and teased Remy’s hole with three slick fingers, testing how ready he was. Remy had his knees up to his chest as close his his ribs would allow, and made an impatient noise.

“C’mon,” he said, “You don’t need to be so gentle with me.”

“Maybe I want to be gentle with you,” Mason shot back as he curled himself over Remy. The way he looked down at him made the blood rush to his head, and he thought he would shout himself hoarse when he felt the blunt head of his cock press against his entrance. Mason pushed into him slowly, deliberately, right until he bottomed out and they both shuddered. 

It felt good. It felt better than good, it felt _ right.  _ He clung to Mason’s broad shoulders as he drove into him, his face buried against his neck, smile felt but not seen. He felt oddly giddy and he didn’t really know why; he might have laughed if all the breath in the body wasn’t being thoroughly fucked out of him. 

“Mason,” he said, for no reason other than to roll it off his tongue like that, “ _ Mason. _ ”

He squeezed a hand between then and grabbed his own cock, hard and leaking where it was trapped. He barely had room to move but it only took and few strokes before he was cumming all over himself, all over his stomach chest. If Mason noticed, he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down; Remy turned his head and caught him in a quick and bruising kiss, his hand on the back of his neck to hold him close, breathing each other’s air, forehead to forehead. 

Even after earlier, Mason really wasn’t far behind him when he came, buried deep inside Remy. He kept rolling his hips until it was too much for both of them and Remy had to swat his arm to get him to stop. He half collapsed on top of him, propped up on one arm so he didn’t put weight on Remy’s injuries. It was kind of impressive he still had the brainpower to remember that. Remy kissed his cheek, his forehead; he nuzzled against his beard and smiled. He felt better than he had in days - weeks, even.

“I fucking love you, you know that,” he said with a laugh. Mason didn’t seem too surprised or startled. Maybe he was too blissed out to get spooked by an impromptu love confession - or maybe he had been expecting it. He leaned down to kiss Remy on the mouth two, three times, a succession of almost-chaste pecks; he didn’t need to say any more that that. Remy understood just fine.

Mason rolled off of him and onto his side, immediately trying to scoop him into a cuddle. Remy let him, too boneless to resist, too content to want to. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, in a good way. They laid in companionable silence for a couple of minutes while their breathing and heartbeats slowly recovered, and they cooled off enough to need to pull the blankets up around them.

“About the bike,” Remy said, and Mason perked up suddenly like he’d been on the verge of drifting off, “I’d like it if we could work on it together. A pet project, y’know?”

Mason was quiet for a moment. Then, he reached for Remy’s hand and took it, tangling their fingers together, “I’d like that.”


End file.
